


Fluent In Being Reckless

by giraffles



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: ''ling no'' ''LING YES'', Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Relationship, Drama, Established Relationship, FMA Polyship Week, Fluff, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Post-Canon, Relationship Negotiation, eventually, gratuitous cursing, mentions of consensual if underage sex, oh look a gaggle of dumb boys, so many f bombs u have been warned, watch them try to figure out what feelings are, while I pretend I can write
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-08-29 14:15:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8492947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/giraffles/pseuds/giraffles
Summary: Cool complexity that got the best of us
  
  There's no one left to deceive
  
  There's nothing more to discuss

 
Or, when you go from fuck buddies to maybe something more, but people are hard things to decipher.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> lays this down, pls accept this

      Ling’s expression is casual, open and easy-going to anyone who doesn’t know him— and Ed knows him far too well. There’s something guarded about the way he stands, something hidden in his smile. He can’t help but wonder what he’s up to.

      He must want something, Ed concludes. Something that requires sneaking into Amestris once again and requesting to see both him _and_ Russell. Russell, who is at the moment tapping a pencil on the table and absolutely driving him up a wall. If he didn’t stop soon Ed was going to take it and break it in half, and then half again, and grind the splinters under his metal heel. He’ll never know how he manages to be so _obnoxious_.

      “So,” he begins with trepidation, “What are you here for, anyway?”

      Ling’s face breaks into a predatory grin, the same one that’s caught and devoured them both time and time again. Ling is dangerous, crafty, and he often thinks that there’s a possibility that Greed never truly left.

      “Ah, that _is_ an interesting topic,” he swings an ornately embroidered sleeve, covered in dragons chasing clouds and borders of flowers, “One that directly concerns my favorite partners.”

      Ed hears Russell snort derisively and he agrees with the sentiment. Partners in crime is more like it; with a helping of bedroom escapades on the side. Times had been rough, the world was on the verge of ending, so they did what they had to do. Teamed up to kick some ass and fuck away some of the stress of the moment. It was an arrangement that had worked out pretty well in his opinion.

      They all knew it wasn’t going to last. It wasn’t supposed to. Armageddon was adverted, Ling went back to Xing to claim his throne, Russell and his sister went back to doing whatever the hell it was they did with their plants, and Ed went home to wonder what he was supposed to do now that it was all over. He hadn’t thought about what would happen if he made it out alive.

      “My royal court has been hassling me to find a harem or choose a wife, but I find those options rather boring,” Ling continued, “So I would like to officially extend an invitation to both of you to become my royal consorts.”

      He delivers the line with such a straight and honest face that of course Ed laughs. Because he has to be joking, there’s no way he’s _serious_. Russell tries to keep his composure a moment longer, but even he breaks into snickers at the idea. Ling blinks at the two of them.

      That’s when it dawns on him that Ling most certainly _is_ serious.

      “Holy fuck,” The realization is still sinking in, punching him in the face with a sack full of bricks, “You’ve got to be shittin’ me.”

      “I’m being very sincere.” Ling says, eyes wide with innocence but mouth pressed into a determined line. He hears Russell start to choke on air as the information catches up with him too. “Though that might not be the correct word for it, there doesn’t seem to be an equivalent in your language.”

      “You came all the way here,” Russell wheezes, “To ask us to be your _whores?_ ”

      There’s a bitter tint to the disbelief in his voice, and Ed has to come to terms with the fact that he whole-heartedly agrees with him. Him. Agreeing with Russell. Wonders will never cease. Actually, he’s not entirely sure any of this is real. Maybe he’s just dreaming, having fallen asleep waiting for that asshole to show up, and his brain is just filling in the spaces in his memory with nonsense stories. Ling looks absolutely offended.

      “Of course not!” He flaps his arms about. “I just said it might not be the right word— I tried to find a better substitute but there isn’t one. ‘Queen’ might be close, but that’s so unnecessarily gendered, and it’s not the same anyhow— unless you would _want_ that, I won’t judge—”

      “Will you shut the fuck up.”

      Ed has a finite amount of patience on a good day, and today is not a good day. He’s confused, he feels used, he feels the sting of betrayal, although he’s not sure why that’s mixed in there of all things. Maybe it it because it’s framed in such a way that says he’s a cheap lay, like he’s a prize, and fuck, he belongs to no one. _They_  belong to no one. It’s an instinctual move, to bury his fingers in the front of Ling’s shirt, and he doesn’t stop even though Russell breaths out a ‘Edward, don’t’ and he knows Lan Fan is just outside the window. But he’s gambled with death and Truth more than once, so he’s not hesitant to do it once again.

      “What the hell is your game?” He all but snarls, and what he wouldn't give to slam his hands into something that would yield under the force, “What are you playing at?”

      Ling, to his credit, doesn't falter. Then again, he rarely did.

      “I'm not playing any games,” he says rather quietly as Russell pries them apart, “I care about you very much.”

      If the silence before was deafening, this is a void in the making. This isn't happening. This can't be happening. This is ridiculous.

      He's lying. Lying, just to get his way. He wants a couple of trophies to add to his crown, one Amestrian who's all too charming and beautiful, and one exotic Xeresian who's a remnant of a time lost. A heritage that isn't even his, thank you very much. They were fuck buddies, not lovers, and barely friends at the end of it. It's a bad idea. A terrible, selfish, one-sided kind of request. And yet.

      And yet what?

      And yet _nothing._

      “You can't tell me that Xing doesn't have many, ah, suitable partners?” Russell has finally joined the conversation proper. “I mean, I'm flattered, but still.”

      He would be, the ass.

      “That's not the point at all.” Ling catches his eye. He may as well be pouting, which is probably very unbecoming of an Emperor. “I want _you_.”

      “And you just expected me-- for us-- to say yes?” Ed won't have any of it, no promise of paradise he knows doesn't exist, no silly fairytale ending, “If I wanted to be a lapdog, I would have stayed enlisted.”

      “Would you shut the fuck up, Edward.” Comes the irritated snap from his left. “You're overreacting.”

      “You're underreacting,” he counters, “This whole proposal is crazy.”

      Ling sighs.

      “I thought this might happen.” He begins anew, in a grave tone that has Ed wondering who died, “And that's alright.”

      Even though everything about him screamed that it wasn't.

 

* * *

 

      Later, it's Lan Fan who explains things better.

      Ling has absconded by then, to check into the country properly, or mooch food off of someone, who knew. Ed certainly didn't care. Let him go screw around and get into trouble. He would deserve the jail time, diplomatic immunity be damned.

      There's actually a fair bit of political power that goes along with the gig. And it was a fairly common occurrence, even before Ling restructured the royal court, throwing out shitty practices and reviving old but more moderate ones. Not to mention that the Amestrian government would probably be jumping at the idea to have such a prominent and publicized tie to the powerhouse that was the Xingese empire. He hated that. He never asked to be a hero, but he supposed he threw anonymity away along with his last claims to childhood.

      “It's a great honor.” she repeats for the thousandth time. As though that might magically fix everything. As though that might convince Ed differently. “He meant it, you know.”

      “Meant what?”

      “That he cares.” She says it such a straightforward manner, like they should have already known it to be so. “He wouldn't have bothered if he didn't. He believes you're worth the time and trials to come here personally to say so.”

      Somehow, it's worse when it comes from Lan Fan. Because she won't say it to be cruel, mean it as a joke or a lie or a bribe. It simply is.

      Her dark gaze is critical and it's hard not to squirm.

      “It’s just a lot.” Russell sounds a lot calmer than he actually is, because if Ed knows anything about him, it’s that he’s a nervous breakdown wrapped in a blanket of anxiety. But he’s awfully good at hiding that. “It’s a lot to think about.”

      “Well of course,” she quips, “You don’t have to decide now. That would be unreasonable.”

      “Yeah, like any of this is _reasonable_ ,” And Russell tries to kick him under the table for that one, but miscalculates, because automail usually wins against regular flesh, “Normal people don't just show up after three years and ask someone to marry them.”

      Lan Fan is decidedly unnammused. The time they've all spent apart seems to have cooled some of her temper, or at least she's gotten better at projecting an icy facade. Or maybe she's just as fed up with all of this as the rest of them.

      “We return to Xing in a week's time.” she says with finality. “Whether or not you accompany us is up to you.”

 

* * *

 

      Edward Elric will be the first to admit he's not good at relationships.

      He does his best. He muddles along, frustrated by vague social cues he doesn't get and intricate webs of conventions he doesn't have time for. Or rather, he might have the time nowadays to bother with it all, but he doesn't want to. It's annoying. It's complicated. He hates having to rely on someone else understanding him when his mind is already six steps ahead of them. Opening up to people takes a level of trust they have to earn, and in kind, no one has the energy or willpower to put up with him for very long. (The obvious exclusions to the rule are his family, of course, because they all have bonds forged by blood and years of proximity and shared trauma.) It's much simpler to keep his distance. It's easier than getting burned by his own enthusiasm and expectations.

      Of course there are also some who see the warning signs and charge into his life anyway. He hates them. He hates them because they've wormed their way under his skin, left little marks on his skin and on his soul-- and he never asked for any of this, goddamn it. He never wanted to remember blue eyes and freckles and to be suddenly struck with a longing so intense it makes him retreat in on himself. He never wanted to associate summer nights and fire smoke with wolfish grins and teeth that have bit too deep, with wrenching regrets and things left unsaid. And on the two of them had gone, oblivious to the wreckage they were leaving behind.

      Fuck both of them. They suck.

      He tells Alphonse so later. His brother gives him this look that says he's in trouble; it has him on the defensive in record time.

      “You know I love you,” Al starts with a sigh, “But you're an _idiot_.”

      “I thought you would be on my side!” He hisses back, “What was I supposed to do, anyway?”

      Al flips through the pages of his book, pretended to be disinterested. As though he's not openly judging his brother with every crinkle of paper. Sometimes Ed wanted to strangle him, as much as he would rush into oncoming traffic for him.

      “Have you thought about it? And I mean _really_ thought about it? Because I don't think you have.”

      “I don't need this from you too--”

      “You need me to say it because no one else will.” He recites, and damn him, he's probably right. That doesn't mean Ed has to like it. “The fact that you’re so hostile about it means it's more than just a weird job offer. Or an extension of your ‘arrangement’ from before. Which honestly, I think worked pretty well for you-- don't look at me like that.”

      That's it. This is how he dies. From sheer embarrassment and disbelief. “Who told you about that?”

      Al shrugs. “None of you were very subtle about it. Just because I didn't have a body didn't mean I was blind, Ed.”

      It hadn't been his fault that Ling, and by extension Greed, had gotten so… handsy at the most inappropriate times. Or any time he could, really. Or that Russell must have spent all his free moments coming up with double entendres to innocently insert into everyday conversation. No, it was their fault. And that's who he's blaming.

      “You should consider it,” he continues, leaving Ed to make a strangled sound, “It might be fun.”

      “ ‘Fun’ isn't the word I would use,” he mumbles into his hands. Here's his support network, the one person he had hoped would agree with him. Give him that validation that he could tell the new Emperor of Xing to kindly fuck right off. Al is too pragmatic for that, too knowing and insightful. And so damn level headed when all he wants to do is scream and cry and rage against the world in the hopes it'll make him feel a little better. They both know that it won't, which is why Al always stops him. Sometimes he listens.

      Sometimes he doesn't.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I can't sleep, things sometimes happen. :'D Enjoy!

      Ling has to admit that he's not at all surprised that it's Russell who comes to him first. 

      He's spent a lot of time with both of them, after all, and it's not hard to predict which one will approach things in a calmer manner while the other will burn in a fire of his own making. Not that Russell doesn't have a temper-- far from it. But it's a slow burn as compared to Ed’s explosive passion for each moment, slowly consuming everything, and no one realizes it until it's much too late. Heaven help anyone on the receiving end of his ire; Ling has seen what pretty things like vines and flowers can do once weaponized. He's dangerous in a different way. 

      He's also more flighty than his confident exterior betrays. 

      Ling knows if that he pushes too far, if he digs too deep, he’ll lose him. He'll replace the excellently made barriers that they spent many a month, many a stolen evening, breaking down and peeling away. Russell has been abandoned more than once (too many times, in his opinion, because who in their right mind would give him up?) and he's all the more cautious for it. He's wary of sweet lies and sweeter sins because he's so good at spinning them himself. 

      He can sit on the other side of the table and pretend he's all business, cold and calm, but Ling knows better. It's the little things that give him away. The stiff way he holds himself, the way his brilliant blue eyes dart about the room, because behind them his mind is busy over analyzing everything. That's one thing him and Edward have in common; they have no concept of being _still_. They are forces in constant motion. 

      “So,” Russell begins, but measures each word with that silver tongue, “You need some partners.” 

      The way he says it is laced with equal parts trepidation and cold distance. Ling had long debated just the right way to go about all this, if there really could have been a right way, one that wouldn't have left the sun snarling and spitting at him and the moon hesitant and circling warily. A letter would have been too detached, a formal request through the Amestrian embassy would have been ignored, and sending a representative in his place had been completely out of the question. At least Russell could be counted on to sit and talk like an adult. 

      “You make it sound like we're negotiating a trade agreement,” he chides, “Instead of an honest declaration of, what I hope are, mutual feelings.” 

      Russell snorts at that, but there's no stopping the beginning of the flush across his neck. It brings out those freckles rather beautifully. 

      He remembers the map of those birthmarks rather well, and he remembers having hands on that pale skin and marveling at it just before he fucked him into the mattress til he _screamed_. But those are thoughts best left for another time, and not when he's trying to seduce one of his former lovers. It's awfully distracting. 

      Seduce isn't really the right word. Many things aren't the right word, and many more are so transcendentally indescribably even before there's a language barrier to go with it. Ling needs to fight for them, in a way. There's a lot to prove to everyone and such a short time to do it in-- and he's trying not to think too hard about that, about going home alone, which is a bleak but very real possibility. He’s the one who's swept in and asked a terrible amount of things from two people who have already lost so much. (Not that they don't all have their traumas, and it's not a competition, but good lord, lady luck can be such a _bitch_.) He's said more than a few prayers that what he's offering will be enough equivalency for two alchemists. He's also been preparing for a soul crushing defeat. 

      Ling isn't sure exactly when he fell in love with them. If one came first, then the other, or if it was an equal descent into this special kind of hell. It started with strictly an allyship, as things often do, before maturing into something like fondness and affection. Then there’s that ache that people talk about, that would sound like an exaggeration until you've been thrust into the worst of it with no relief in sight. He only realized it fully when he was miles and miles away, when some alchestrist’s art made him think of Edward or the blooming magnolias reminded him of Russell. And he came to understand there were people in the world he might be convinced to tear empires down for. 

      “It's a long way to go for a fuck buddy.” Russell concludes at last. “So I suppose you're not lying to me.” 

      He breaks down each piece. Coming in person was the right choice. The nature of their relationship still has a question mark on the end of it, but he can work with that. There's a grudging acceptance in that last part, along with a warning against deception, ironic because he's talking with a man who's made lying his forte. 

      Alright, so that really isn't fair. Russell hasn't committed any felonies in a recent years, and he can be incredibly blunt and honest when he wants to be. But it's always fun to tease him, to never let him live down that one time he impersonated _the_  Fullmetal Alchemist, even if that is overshadowed by the fact he participated in a military coup. Technically they're all criminals of some sort or another. But that's why he likes them; because they're not afraid to break rules, to bend the world to their whim. 

      And it's a cruel world. It's not always pleasant, it surely isn't fair. By all rights they should never have succeeded. There's always a risk when making calculated moves on the game board, it's the same in war and in love, and the deck was stacked against them from the start. 

      “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” 

      “I don’t know _what_  I want.” He admits rather candidly, “It’s all just. It’s just a lot. I have to think about Fletcher too.” 

      As though Fletcher Tringham wasn’t one of the most capable girls he’d ever met, lending her hands and talent to a fight someone of her age shouldn’t have been anywhere near. She’s sweet and kind, and holds no ill designs or malice of any kind in her tiny body. At seventeen and a half she was certainly an independent person, but he also knows that Russell would walk into hell for her. Yet Fletcher isn’t the one who’s scared to be separated from their sibling. 

      “She could come too. If she wanted to, that is. She’s always welcome in Xing.” 

      There’s a hesitant smile that graces his features. “Thanks.”

 

* * *

 

      Russell agrees to consider it, at least. That’s all he can really ask. He even offers to talk to Ed, which is a gracious and brave on his part, because the last two days he’s been a prickly ball of anger. Ling wishes he knew exactly what he had said, what buttons he’d pushed the wrong way, to get such a hostile response. But straight up asking wouldn’t help, and Ed had been pointedly avoiding all of them at the moment. And he only knows that much because he asked Lan Fan to keep an eye on both of them for good measure. The Amestrian government says it’s getting better about international policy, but he wouldn’t have put it past someone to try to prevent Xing from ‘stealing’ their golden child. As if they had any claim to him. As if _anyone_  could ever lay claim to him. 

      So he was worried. He was allowed to worry, wasn’t he? This could all still go sideways in an instant, and he’d find himself and his entourage politely kicked out of the country with nothing to show for it. Really, they were lucky that he knew enough people working in the Central headquarters, because otherwise they probably would have been deported anyway. But putting in a formal request for a diplomatic visit would have taken too long to go through, and would have made a spectacle of something that really was more of a personal mission.

      Even knowing he’s done all he can doesn’t stop him from wearing holes in the paper he’s supposed to be drafting royal decrees on. It’s not a new feeling, to be suddenly so helpless in the face of adversity, yet the context is fresh. No, not the same as dragging bleeding comrades to safety, or giving over control of his body to a demon. But it’s still maddening, _suffocating_ , knowing that the world was going to keep marching on regardless of what happened next. 

  
      "My lord," Comes Lan Fan's bored voice, "You're getting ink on the table."    
  
      "Oh," There's a sizable stain now, accidentally created by his wandering mind not paying attention to his hands, "Oops."    
  
      She let's out a huff, her equivalent of a laugh, or as much of one that she'll allow while on duty. And she may *look* at ease, relaxed in her surroundings; and only a fool would think of her as anything less than deadly. There is softness hiding there however, facets of herself that no one else gets to see and he often wonders if he's worthy of that privilege. Lan Fan has given up so much just to stand by his side, and has shown to be willing to do more than that. Not that he would let her; she deserves her own life too.    
  
      "They'll come around." She comments off handedly, as though describing the weather. He stares at the ruined scroll and ink splattered wood in front of him.    
  
      "I hope so."    


**Author's Note:**

> much love to xyriath who's AU fic gave me the initial idea for this and fletcherstringham for just being the best ever C: Things came up irl that prevented me from having all of this done for polyship week, but I figured I'd post what I have for everyone to enjoy with the promise that more will come later!


End file.
